


Eat You Up

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Community: seasonofkink, Finntrospection, M/M, New-ish Relationship, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Poe looks down, then back up, smirking as he spreads his arms. "I know, I'm freaking magnificent. Drink it in, buddy. Eat it up.""I intend to," Finn tells him.Finn and Poe banter and argue and flirt and get busy. Shippy smut.





	Eat You Up

**Author's Note:**

> For the **rimming/licking** square on my seasonofkink [card](https://gloss.dreamwidth.org/174285.html); if you have prompts for other squares, let me know there or on [my tumblr](http://spaceoperafeerie.tumblr.com/). Audienced and insta-beta'ed by the ever-generous Orchis. ♥

They're freshly out of the Xhineean baths, rubbery and blank-brained, stumbling a little from the heat and steam. Poe knocks into Finn, who tries to grab the curved wall to steady himself, but his hand slips in all the condensation and he starts to fall. Poe catches him, both arms around his waist, and loses his short towel in the process.

"Thanks," Finn says, upright again, balance restored. "This shouldn't be so difficult."

Poe retrieves his towel, but it's soaked now. Rather than wrap it around his hips again, he slings it over his shoulder. "You want to do another freeze-plunge, or should we head back?"

"I'm torn," Finn says. "Don't think my extremities can take another freeze, but--"

"And yet you survived Starkiller," Poe says. His hair is damp, the curls loosened and lengthened. "'This is nothing, Poe, you're such a spoiled tropical baby, when I was on Starkiller...'"

"I never said any of that!"

"You said it," Poe says, "just not with words."

"What, I'm a telepath now?"

Poe points to his eyes. "With your _eyes_ , man, and your expressions, and your, what do you call it? Gestures."

"Spoiled tropical baby?"

Poe shrugs and grins. "General called me that, lectured me about how hard they had it on Hoth. Really put me in my place."

"Which," Finn says, knocking his shoulder against Poe's, "I'm sure you thoroughly enjoyed."

Poe's grin gets wider. "I did not hate it, no." Towel in hand, he snaps it against Finn's leg. "Race you to the changeroom?"

"It's way too slippery! Poe--!"

But Poe is already race-walking up the slight incline, feet splayed apart as he sways side to side to keep his balance. Completely naked, flushed from the heat, he looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. (Aside, that is, from slipping and falling, hence the ridiculous gait.) Finn follows more sedately, fingers grazing the wall, watching Poe. Poe’s body is far from perfect; in addition to the various aches he complains about, frequently at length in the cold mornings here, he's a little soft around the middle, his hips and ass are fairly broad for a human male's, his legs a little too short. As he walks, his buttocks wink and bounce. He's strong and stubborn and, without exaggeration, the handsomest man Finn has ever known. 

Tenderness, an acute, unquenchable need for hope, for Poe's safety and ever-growing happiness, surges through Finn. It seizes him by the throat and tightens his skin; he quickens his steps.

"I am beating you _so_ hard!" Poe calls from the top of the passage. He twists at the waist, still grinning, hair in his eyes. The light from the changerooms catches his profile, sparks and glistens down his jaw and all his stubble. He cocks his head. "What are you staring at?" Poe looks down, then back up, smirking as he spreads his arms. "I know, I'm freaking magnificent. Drink it in, buddy. Eat it up."

"I intend to," Finn tells him as he catches up. His own towel is slipping down his waist and he's a little hard, so it's tented, too. "You basically read my mind."

This close, Poe's grin jumps and flashes, one brow swinging up. "You don't say?"

Finn nods. "I do say, yes."

The Xhineeans have very strict local customs and by-laws about carnal activity in the municipal baths, so they don't touch now. Not much, anyway; Finn does let his hand graze Poe's as they walk. They change quickly. Poe even sticks his head under the insta-dryer because he has, finally, learned his lesson about how quickly his hair will freeze during the short walk from the baths back to their housing. Finn, on the other hand, just needs to towel off a couple times, then tug on a woollen cap.

"You're so lucky, you jerk," Poe grumbles as they shrug on their parkas and fasten their boots. "Ready?"

"Ready," Finn replies.

They make their way through the two pressure locks, then out to the walkway. As bundled up as they are, and warmed from the inside out by the baths, the cold still smacks into them. Poe might even squeak in complaint, but that would be untoward, and Finn pretends not to notice.

"You were saying?" Poe asks when they're about halfway across the yard. He swings his arms, clapping his hands as he strides forward; the sound is brittle and echoing in the dark gray twilight.

"About what?" Finn says, dropping back to single file as they pass a convoy of droids. "About the supply lines?"

That's what they'd been discussing in the bath, leaning back with elbows up on the smooth edge of the pool, kicking their legs lazily while the volcanically-heated water sloshed over their chests. They'd moved on to security protocols for outgoing communications, but there they'd agreed. The supply lines, however, was an entire Bantha-skeleton of contention between them.

"No, not them, you're still absurdly naive on _that_ issue," Poe says now, scuffing his boots through the gritty snow. "About me?"

"Oh, _that_." Finn overtakes Poe as they reach the gate to their housing complex. He punches in the code and presses his thumbprint to the holo-reader, and only continues speaking when they're inside. As the pressure-lock closes behind them, he puts his arm around Poe's shoulders to pull him close. Poe shifts, adjusting immediately to fit against Finn, despite the parkas and caps. Finn puts his mouth on the lump Poe's ear makes under his cap and says, "I need your ass, okay?"

"Okay?" Poe nearly laughs, then bites his lip and nods rapidly. "Okay!"

"Good," Finn says, and doesn't release him. He keeps his arm there; they're just about the same height, so their heads tip together easily. He likes that, _a lot_. 

"Need it for what, though?"

"Seriously?"

Poe ducks his head. "Just clarifying."

Their usual ease of understanding snags every so often. Not all that much, so far as Finn can tell, but sometimes. Particularly when it comes to intensely personal subjects; they’re both too used to disappointment, he thinks, not to take care and second-guess happiness.

Finn nudges Poe out of the lift ahead of him and slaps the bottom part of Poe's parka, where his ass should be. "For my tongue, to start. Probably fingers, maybe dick?"

Poe stops short, then slides forward, breaking into a run down the hall to their bunk. At the entry, he skids to a stop and dances from foot to foot, impatiently poking in the code.

By the time Finn catches up with him, gets inside and the hatch has locked, Poe has stripped back down to trousers and jersey. He even got his socks off -- that is, if he ever bothered to put them on before pulling on his boots. _Spoiled tropical baby_ , indeed. He consistently misjudges temperature to the point that Finn thinks he might pranking them all; furthermore, any chance to go barefoot, Poe will seize, if not invent.

"Let me help you with that--" Poe's hands move anxiously, rather than helpfully, over Finn. Finn shakes his head a little and steps out of reach. "Or I could watch. I'll watch."

He perches on the edge of the sleeping platform, legs swinging, hands in his lap. Then, for no reason Finn can discern, he sits _on_ his hands.

Finn strips back down, hanging his garments and lining up his boots, then Poe's, on the drain tray. When he joins Poe, he says, "you're still dressed?"

Poe shrugs, just one shoulder. "Wasn't sure--"

"That doesn't sound like you." Even when he's 95% uncertain about something, Poe tends to go for it. Finn considers this as admirable as it is anxiety-producing.

"Ha, yeah," Poe says, looking Finn in the eye. "Then I thought, it feels better when you do it."

Finn doesn't know what to say to that. He _means_ something to Poe: that’s ridiculous, of course he does, and yet moments like this occur and he’s reminded all over again. Sometimes, other people recede to little more than sharp cut-outs, mere targets in the field of vision, threats to be evaluated. When that happens, Finn has to fight his way back to full consciousness.

He ought to be used to this by now, the fact that he exists for other people. For _Poe_. Yet this can still catch him unguarded, grab him and surprise him, leave him baffled. 

He doesn’t have to work very hard to return to himself when it comes to Poe.

He kisses Poe, open-mouthed and insistent, as Poe's arms go around his neck. He works Poe's jersey up his chest, kisses his neck and drags his teeth down his breast bone while urging Poe's arms up over his head so the jersey can be shed. He grazes one nipple, then the other, and Poe shivers agaisnt him, arms wrapping back around Finn's head to hold him there. Finn slings one leg over Poe and kisses his way back up, letting Poe fall back, kissing him until they're both breathless and squirming, Finn half on top of him, slowly rutting against Poe’s thigh, Poe's smile wide and his eyes a little unfocused.

Finn can't stop kissing him, tasting the sweat and mineral water on Poe's skin, brushing his mouth back and forth over Poe's stubble until his lips are burning in a whole new way. He cups Poe through his trousers, feels him hard through the fabric, and Poe rolls his hips, thrusting against Finn's touch. Poe gives over to pleasure like it's as easy as breathing; it is for him, Finn understands that now. Sex is as essential and straightforward for him as breath, food, water.

He crooks his thumb and tugs it down through Poe's trouser fasteners, popping them open so his hand can slide in to the damp heat within. 

"Finn, _damn_ \--" Poe lifts his hips, pushing his cock into Finn's hand and shimmying to work the pants down. His hands are moving restlessly up and down Finn's back, trailing heat and tingles as they go. He grabs at Finn when Finn jacks him a couple time, then falls back, neck arching, mouth open as he gasps.

He's so _present_ that it makes Finn dizzy and ambitious. He gets visions of jerking Poe like this, slowly, patiently, always easing off just as orgasm starts to rear up, teasing Poe for hours until he's shuddering nonstop and begging. Wordlessly, because he would have long since lost his voice from groaning. 

Finn's hands itch for more, his mouth is full of spit. As quickly and smoothly as he can, he sits up, tugging Poe's trousers down with his free hand. Before Poe can complain with more than a bitten-off moan, Finn dips back down and kisses the head of his cock, licking around and around, swirling until Poe's thrusting up blind and shallow. His hands fell off Finn, scraping him as they went, and now they're grabbing the linens, flexing and tightening.

Finn gets one of Poe’s legs free, which is all that's strictly necessary, and as soon as he can, he drags his mouth down Poe's shaft to his balls. Poe's cock rides the side of Finn's face, his cheek and ear, as Finn bends lower, leading with tongue and spit. He tastes and weighs each ball a couple times, then both together, holding still until Poe's groans get louder. He presses at Poe's shin; it takes a bit, but finally Poe gets it, bends his leg and gets the sole of his foot planted on the mattress.

Finn shuffles around, breath coming shallow, desire shaking him by the scruff of the neck. He wants so much; it promises brazen, impossible things. Poe's legs are wide open, he's lifting his ass, repeating Finn's name. 

Poe may have suggested his name but Finn's the body and soul that _became_ the name and inhabits what the syllable means. Sometimes he fades, sometimes he's nearly as blank as 2187 often was. Right now, however, he's real and alive and named, blood thundering in his ears and dick yearning for touch and mouth awash in the taste of Poe's damp, tender skin.

The tendons in Poe's thighs stand out, his toes curl into the sheet, and when Finn licks him open, he shouts a long, crystalline sound that breaks into rough gasps and obscene grunts. Something shifts, the angle and position of his legs, as Finn swirls his tongue around and around the edges of Poe's hole. Poe has one leg drawn up to his chest, Finn presumes. It's a position he often takes, the better to expose and offer himself, to accept whatever Finn's seeking to give him.

Finn presses the pad of his index finger against Poe's taint and keeps licking until the hole eases open a little, and then he's rocking his knuckle up and down as his tongue fucks in and out. Soon enough, he can get his finger inside, alternating with his tongue. A puddle of spit and sweat blooms on the bed beneath them. Poe is thrusting and rocking and asking for more.

Finn eases his finger out and, hungrily, goes just with mouth, licking the slick, private skin in circles until Poe suddenly stills. His balls are tighter now, the hair follicles standing out. He whispers Finn's name, sounding hoarse and almost diffident.

"Whatever you want," Finn tells him. Before he's finished, Poe is grabbing at his dick. His hole constricts, then irises open, drawing Finn's tongue in deeper. Finn could smother here, tongue-fucking him, nose mashed below his balls. Right now that sounds like a fine plan.

The sounds of Poe's hand on his dick, squeaky and slappy and squelchy, speed up; his balls bounce on Finn's forehead, his ass tightens hard against Finn’s mouth. When he starts to come, Finn has to push up on one hand to keep his mouth fastened tight. Poe's hips come off the bed as he shoots.

Then he collapses down and Finn pulls away, his lips numb and tongue sour. He looks up, watches Poe blink through the daze and return to regular awareness. Mouth tingling, he bends over Poe’s belly to lick him clean.

Giggling a little, Poe bats awkwardly at Finn's head. "Tickles!"

"Now you complain?"

"Me? Never!" Poe gets Finn in a loose headlock and shakes him. "No complaints, not a single one."

Finn slips free and pushes to his feet. His balance tips for half a second, but then he's at the basin, rinsing out his mouth and spitting. He's so hard, cock aching and leaking, and yet he also feels warm and spent, almost satiated.

" _No_ complaints? Not even about ridiculous supply-line routes that will never survive the least aggression?" Finn asks as he crosses the tiny room and lies down next to Poe. "You're a very strange man."

Arm over Finn's chest, Poe pushes his face against Finn's neck and sighs. "I don't think I ever claimed otherwise."

"Fair," Finn admits. He rubs Poe’s arm lightly, his eyes closing. "More than fair."

"Oh, I’ll show you fair," Poe whispers and reaches for Finn’s cock. "Got _a lot_ to pay you back for."


End file.
